


Making Amends

by oooknuk



Series: New Paths [2]
Category: due South
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-28
Updated: 2017-04-28
Packaged: 2018-10-24 22:23:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10750998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oooknuk/pseuds/oooknuk
Summary: Beth Botrelle is innocent





	Making Amends

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All characters you recognize will belong to Alliance. No infringement of copyright intended. Not for profit. 
> 
> Warnings: language, m/m, h/c 
> 
> Note: This is an AU which supposes that Ray Vecchio never went undercover. It is a sequel to 'New Paths'.

It was with a heavy heart that I watched Ray drive away. It wasn't only that I regretted his departure for my own sake, but the grief and unhappiness which had propelled him to this step was clear on his face and every move he made. I felt that his impulse to be alone was not sound, even though I didn't argue with him - it was, after all, his choice, his life. He needed his friends, and his friends needed him. I sighed and turned to my father. "Perhaps I should have told him."

"No, son, you did the right thing. He could never let her go if he thought he could talk to her. It's enough that she's watching over him."

"She knows how much he loved her."

"Yes, she does. But there is a time for grieving, and a time for letting go, for both of them."

I nodded and went inside the building. My father left to go off on his own little excursion. He'd announced earlier that he would take over my former room for the period of Ray's absence. I didn't really mind, I suppose. It would be lonely without Ray, of whom I had in a short time become inordinately fond. The fact that nearly all his possessions, including his pet turtle, were still in place, increased the sense that he had merely stepped out to buy milk. Yet he'd made it clear that he might never return, a prospect which chilled me.

Ray Vecchio understood my regret at Ray's departure - he felt for Ray's bereavement, and for his own part in exacerbating the pain, and even though the two men had clashed over the investigation into Stella Kowalski's murder, Ray Vecchio recognized, finally, the decency of the man he was dealing with. Ray Kowalski, likewise, came to understand that Ray Vecchio had been only doing his job, and had had good cause to suspect him. Both men loathed husbands who killed rather than allow their wives to leave them, so in the end, they found common cause, if not a common liking.

I only heard from Ray twice over the next year - both times through postcards, once from Florida, once from Arizona. The cards were typically lurid, cheap reproductions of tourist attractions, clearly hastily bought and just as hastily written on, as if Ray was away he had been lax and trying to make amends for it. They told me little, and promised nothing. At the same time, my unconventional partnership with Ray Vecchio continued with the tacit approval of both the Canadian and the American authorities. I made a couple of tentative enquiries and discovered the unofficial embargo on my return to active duty in Canada was still in place, and this knowledge continued to sour, to some extent, my enjoyment of the police work I shared with Ray. Underneath it all, I wondered how my Ray was doing, and if I would ever see him again.

He had departed in Fall, and the seasons had made their full cycle since then. The first snows had fallen, the trees were bare and I contemplated with no pleasure the coming anniversary of his leaving. I would shortly have to make a decision as to whether I wanted to keep on Ray's apartment or not. He had made it completely clear that I had no obligation to keep it, and had given me instructions on what to do with his belongings should I move. The place was a little more than I could easily afford, although still being reasonable for the size and the area. I had dutifully put aside half rent to give Ray, although he had insisted he would not accept it, and this fact meant that I could keep the apartment going for another year, which would, apart from any other considerations, spare me my father's inevitable complaints about having to move again. Did I want to keep it on, was the burning question. The answer was yes, for the entirely impractical reason that to give it up was to give up the hope of Ray returning. It was simply a rather expensive way of keeping a light in the window for him - I felt that to leave him without a base in Chicago would be to add to his griefs, and I wanted him to have a home, a real home, to come back to when he needed it. The same way he had offered a wounded, lonely and homesick Mountie a home and his friendship a year and a half earlier.

The weather being dry, I took advantage of it and the end of my early shift to take Diefenbaker for a long run. It was dark by the time I got home, and I saw there was a dim light on in my apartment. It wasn't my habit any longer to leave the place unlocked - Ray had rather forcefully insisted on the apartment being properly secured, and since it was his belongings, not mine, that were at risk, I had acquiesced in his wishes. I pushed open the door cautiously, but then Dief gave a happy bark and rushed into the living room. A figure emerged from the gloom and I was taken into a warm and welcome bear hug. "Ray!" I said with delight.

He stepped away and I flicked on the main light so I could see him properly. He was grinning at me, clearly as happy to see me and Dief again as I was to see him, but he was clearly travel stained, and travel worn. "When did you get back?"

"An hour ago. I'm sorry I didn't call - I made plans kinda sudden."

"I don't mind at all - have you eaten?"

He hadn't, so I ordered Chinese take out for him, his favorite. While we waited, I made him tea, apologizing for the lack of beer and coffee in the place. He laughed. "Fraser - do you really think I expected you to keep stocks of drinks you don't touch just for me?"

"I could have had something to hand, it is your home." His face fell. "What did I say?"

"My home. Fraser - it's your place now, I made that clear."

"It's our home, Ray. I've kept things the way you left them. I hoped you'd come back."

"Wasn't planning to." He turned away from me and stared out the front window, clearly troubled, and no longer cheerful.

"Why did you come back?" I asked quietly. He sighed deeply and then rummaged in a battered backpack, returning to the counter with a day old newspaper. 'Beth Botrelle to die by lethal injection,' the headline read. I looked at him enquiringly.

"I knew the date was coming up, so I've been tracking the case. She shot her husband. I took the call. I was the first step in a long line that leads to someone getting killed."

"I don't understand, Ray. She isn't the only murderer you've arrested, and I presume she was subject to due process. Does the death penalty bother you?"

He ran his hand through his hair in frustration, and the light from the kitchen showed how deeply lined his face had become, how very tired he was. "No, that's not it. Look - I went to see her this afternoon. Called her lawyer, set it up, went to see her in the prison. She told me not to feel guilty, Fraser - that she'd done it."

"So - I don't understand ..."

"She lied. She sat there, she's gonna die, and she lied to me to make me feel better!" He rubbed his face angrily.

"How do you know she lied?"

He took his hands away from his face abruptly. "I know - I can tell when someone is lying to me. And she lied. She's gonna die because of me, and she's innocent."

The food arrived then. I arranged things on plates but his appetite was non existent, and he merely pushed the food around with his chopsticks. I got him to tell me how he was involved in the arrest of the wife of Detective Jake Botrelle eight years previously. He was just a rookie cop, he said, the first time he'd attended a homicide, and he was on his own, discovering the body lying in a copious and sickening amount of blood. He described how frightened he'd been, shocked by the scene. He had just picked up a piece of paper under the corpse's fingers when he heard water running. It was then he discovered Mrs. Botrelle standing fully clothed under the shower stream.

"It was open and shut, Fraser. The trial was over in a week. Her prints were on the gun, she couldn't account for her movements on the night in question, and they had a dozen witnesses who heard her threaten to kill him in public."

"What happened to the piece of paper?"

He looked at me as if I'd lost my marbles, but then he concentrated.

"I picked up the paper ...," he said slowly

"Did you look at it? Read it?"

"No - I heard the water so I put it in my pocket. Then I found her in the bathroom."

"What happened to the paper?"

"I gave it to Sam Franklin and he bagged it." Realization dawned. "I contaminated the scene."

"Procedure would indicate that it had been disturbed, yes."

"Oh my God, Fraser. That's it. How did I forget that? I screwed up - and look what happened. I got promoted, Sam made lieutenant. Whole careers are wrecked over things like that." He looked at me fiercely. "We gotta look at that piece of paper. Beth Botrelle is gonna die because I fucked up."

"We need official help, Ray. I can't request evidence from lock up, nor can you."

"Vecchio." A statement, not a question. I nodded.

"Yes. Let me call him."

I raised my hand to the phone, but he put his hand on my arm. "Fraser, I gotta warn you - Jake Botrelle worked out of the 2-7. And a lot of people are happy Beth Botrelle is gonna die. She's a convicted cop killer."

"Understood. But like you, I doubt Ray Vecchio wants to see an innocent woman die."

I gave Ray Vecchio enough information to get him to come over, but not the full picture. He was warily polite to Ray Kowalski, but when he heard what Ray had to say, he looked at me in disgust.

"Geez, Fraser - this is gonna make you popular all over again. Didn't you learn a thing from the Zuko mess?"

I looked at him steadily. "Yes, I did. I learned that justice, however unpleasant or unwelcome, must be done and must be seen to be done."

Ray blew his cheeks out and shook his head ruefully. "Yeah, man, I get it," he said quietly, as a moment of understanding passed between us.

"So you'll help?" Ray Kowalski asked, watching the interplay carefully.

"Yeah. I don't like it, though."

Ray Kowalski became defensive, his quick temper roused. "Don't put yourself out, Vecchio," he said angrily. I put a calming hand on his arm, but Ray Vecchio spoke first.

"I'm not. Call it a gift from the ghost of Irene Zuko."

"Who?" Ray asked, puzzled.

"Someone else who shouldn't have had to die young." I understood the pain the memory was causing Ray Vecchio and I gave him a look of sympathy - and gratitude.

There wasn't much we could do that evening - Ray Vecchio and I needed to call at the evidence lock up. It was Ray's day off so he was at liberty to assist, thank goodness. Ray Kowalski said he would contact his former lieutenant, Sam Franklin, tomorrow. Franklin had moved on and upwards after Ray's departure from the PD and was now an inspector. Ray Vecchio told us as much as he remembered about 'Jake the make' - he told us that he'd been a popular detective, but rumors abounded about his philandering. He'd been a chief investigator, as had Sam Franklin, for the now States Attorney Bedford - who had recently announced his candidature for the state governorship - during Bedford's enquiry into waterfront crime. Ray wasn't sure of all the details, but said he would quietly obtain Botrelle's files and bring them to our apartment tomorrow. He warned us that discretion was of the utmost importance - what we were doing would be unpopular in the extreme, and Ray Kowalski's lack of a position with the PD wouldn't help.

Ray Vecchio left after we set up our agenda for the following day. Ray Kowalski crumpled with exhaustion, all the energy which had carried him through our discussion gone. "You should go to bed - you can have your old room back," I told him.

He shook his head. "No, it's okay. Don't know how long I'm staying, don't put yourself out." I concealed my dismay at his words. He let me at least make the bed up for him - he was stumble-footed with tiredness. He told me he'd driven all through the previous night after getting permission to see Beth Botrelle, and had not slept for nearly forty eight hours. I ended up helping him strip - his fatigue made the weakness of his arm and leg more pronounced. Generally he seemed a little improved in that direction, although he still used the cane. I pushed him down onto the bed and covered him up. He gave me a sleepy smile, and a thank you which was swallowed up in a yawn. He was asleep before I turned the light out.

My father was waiting in the living room for me. "Take care, Benton."

"About what, Dad?"

"Don't let your emotions get in the way of justice."

"I really haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about, not that that's anything new. I'd like to go to bed, if you don't mind."

"Oh, do, please. Make yourself comfortable. Don't concern yourself about me in the least."

"I won't."

"That's okay then."

"Fine."

My father shared the bed. Anything for a quiet life.

I'd gone from the apartment before Ray awoke. There seemed little point in rousing him since Ray Vecchio and I had the lion's share of the task first up. I left Diefenbaker with my Ray, knowing the two friends would want to catch up. Ray Vecchio picked me up from the building and we drove to the evidence lockup. There we encountered some little difficulty with two gentlemen who objected to what we were doing, and in fact we had to make a run for it, after first collecting the precious item which we had come for. This was enough to completely convince Ray Vecchio that Ray Kowalski was right about Mrs. Botrelle's innocence. He made a brief and discreet stop at the 27th precinct to collect Jake Botrelle's old files. He emerged disgustedly reporting the mood of jubilation of his fellow officer at the impending execution, and then we returned to my apartment. Ray Kowalski was waiting for us anxiously, and immediately pronounced the paper to be non-authentic. "I got to see Sam," he said. We agreed. While Ray Kowalski visited his former boss, Ray Vecchio and I collected the crime scene videos from Beth Botrelle's lawyer, and then returned to the apartment to look over the files we'd obtained.

The name 'Mermaid' came up over and over in Botrelle's diary, as did 'Callaghans'. Ray Vecchio couldn't enlighten me. Ray Kowalski returned in an hour, despondent. Franklin couldn't remember the fate of the paper, and couldn't help. He was firmly convinced of Beth Botrelle's guilt - the only thing he'd told Ray which might assist us was the rumor that Jake Botrelle had been involved with Robert Bedford's wife.

Ray Vecchio sighed in frustration. "This case is a mess."

"A mess which is gonna see an innocent woman die," Ray Kowalski said angrily, although we knew his anger was not directed at us. He was frustrated by the fact that time was running out fast. I made us all tea as both Rays settled down to watch the crime scene video. I realized that the partial staining on the piece of paper allegedly found in Jake Botrelle's dead hand, placed in Ray's pocket and bagged as evidence, meant that it had actually been in the living room unbagged an hour after the video started being recorded.

"It's not enough to stop the execution," Ray Kowalski said. Ray Vecchio agreed.

"One of us needs to speak to Mrs. Botrelle about her husband's diary," I said. I called her defense attorney, who arranged for me to see her client. She would only permit me to see her, so both Rays waited for me in the prison car park. It was an experience I would not be eager to repeat - the depravity of the women was matched only by the grimness and inhumanity of their surroundings. It was therefore a surprise to me how much of her humanity and spirit Beth Botrelle retained. She impressed me greatly with her strength of mind and her integrity, and I believed her implicitly when she confessed that she had lied to Ray about killing her husband. Unfortunately, she was not able to shed any light on the items in her husband's diary, and I feared that all I had done was raise unrealizable hopes. That fear grew when we returned to our apartment and found it had been ransacked, and the piece of paper from the crime scene stolen. Ray Kowalski regarded the wreckage in dismay.

"Ray," I asked Ray Vecchio," Callaghans is likely a business, not a person. Why don't we pursue that? We can do nothing more here." Ray Kowalski snorted with disgust, but our depression lifted somewhat when we discovered that 'Callaghans' was the name of a storage facility. Ray Vecchio advised against going for a warrant - we had already roused too much suspicion. Given the gravity and pressing nature of the matter, I was not disposed to argue with him. Our search paid dividends immediately - the storage lock up yielded a briefcase with money in envelopes, and more importantly, a notebook detailed who had made the payments and why. It was time to involve Lieutenant Welsh formally - Ray Vecchio had already told him, off the record, what was happening, and had received as much encouragement as the lieutenant could give without ruffling feathers, but now we could put this before him.

Time was wasting - Beth Botrelle was due to be executed that very night. Ray Kowalski asked Sam Franklin to set up a meeting with Robert Bedford, for which Ray Vecchio and I - and others - got into position. In the meantime, the governor was presented with the new evidence that Jake Botrelle was not a murder victim, but a suicide, and a stay of execution was requested. In the end, it was all cut much too fine - Mrs. Botrelle was seconds from death when the stay was granted, and only the timely intervention of myself, Ray Vecchio, Lieutenant Welsh and around fifty other police officers had saved Ray Kowalski and Robert Bedford from being likewise executed by Sam Franklin. Ray had come to suspect Franklin but facing the reality of his perfidy - and that of the States Attorney - was still a shock.

Ray Vecchio drove us back to our apartment. We were all too tired, and too disenchanted, to celebrate our victory, and when we faced the mess in the apartment which we had not yet had time to clear up, Ray Kowalski offered to put us up in a hotel. Ray Vecchio also offered us accommodation but I refused both. "It won't take long to clear a path to the bedrooms," I insisted. Ray Vecchio shrugged and said he would see me tomorrow for the postmortem of events. We still had to help to formally arrange for Mrs. Botrelle's release, and make our reports.

After Ray Vecchio left, Ray Kowalski stood in the middle of the wreckage of our belongings, uncertain and deflated. "I need a drink," he announced.

"All I have is tea, Ray."

"Bring it on," he said wearily, shoving a pile of papers off one end of the sofa. As the water boiled, I piled some belongings in a corner, freeing up the armchair. I made the tea and brought it to him.

"You did it, Ray. You saved her life."

"Fraser - I'm responsible for taking eight years of her life and throwing it in the can. There's nothing to be happy about."

He sipped his tea morosely, lost in self-recrimination. I kept my counsel, knowing he would have to work through it himself. Eventually he lifted his head. "Thanks, buddy. I couldn't have done it without you and Vecchio. He's okay when you get to know him."

"Yes, he is. I'm sure he feels the same about you."

He pulled a face. "I'm gonna go to bed, if I can find it."

"Let me help."

He shook his head. "Just leave me be, Fraser."

I watched him limp to the bedroom, my heart full at the thought of his pain, and now wondering how long he would remain in Chicago.

The following day, things moved apace. Mrs. Botrelle's lawyer launched an immediate appeal against her conviction, and bail was granted without delay. She was due to be released from prison at five that afternoon and the surprising request was passed to us that she wanted 'Officer Kowalski' to collect her and take her to her former home, which had stood empty for nearly all of the eight years she had been in prison. Kind neighbors had arranged for the power to be reconnected, and for the place to be made ready for her, although I wondered how in fact she would be able to bear staying in the house where her husband had died. Ray waited for her at the doors of the prison and walked her to his car, fending off the reporters who had lain in wait for her. She didn't speak on the journey to her house, her eyes watching the passing scenery hungrily. I couldn't imagine what was going through her mind, and she wasn't giving us a clue.

At the house, she asked Ray to come inside with her. He looked at me worriedly but followed her in. I waited by the car for nearly an hour, wondering if Mrs. Botrelle was using this interlude as a way of exacting revenge on Ray. I thought it unlikely since she seemed so concerned for his feelings and opinion while in prison, but the experience was bound to have done things to her psyche, and perhaps the need to make someone pay for her pain would be too great to deny. When he emerged, alone, Ray moved as if he was drunk. He was white faced and silent, climbing behind the wheel as if pulled by strings. Then, to my utter horror, he broke down - I hadn't seen such grief since the night Stella died. I put my hand on his shoulder, then put my arms around him and pulled him to my chest. He was inconsolable, and among the sobs I could hear 'sorry' and 'I did it'. I wasn't sure what exactly he was grieving for, but I guessed part of it was his guilt over the loss of the best years of an innocent woman's life to a simple mistake - his mistake.

I held him for ten minutes, patting, and murmuring to him. Finally he pushed me away, embarrassed at his breakdown, but still unable to speak for his sobbing breaths. I got out of the car and urged him to change places with me, which he did without argument, and then I drove us home. He stared unseeing out of the window - like Beth Botrelle earlier, I had no idea what was going through his mind.

He was unsteady on his feet and I put my arm on his shoulder to guide him up the stairs. I wished I had something stronger than tea in the apartment, but we had forgotten to purchase any beer, occupied as we had been with the clear up and then picking up Mrs. Botrelle. He walked into the now tidy living room, a look of utter desolation on his face, and I could no longer stand his pain. I walked over to him and hugged him, moved us over to the sofa, and there he rested his head on my chest as he wept quietly. I felt so helpless in the face of this grief. I stroked his hair and his face, saying his name over and over in a soothing litany. He raised a tear stained face to mine and looked at me with eyes that were large, and beautiful and filled with agony. He moved closer to me, and then, before I could completely register what was happening, he brushed his lips against mine. I froze in shock, and my lack of response confirmed for him that his move was unwelcome. He struggled against my enclosing arms. "I suck, I suck, I suck," he muttered.

I refused to let him go. "Ray - Ray, calm down, please."

He wouldn't look at me. "I'm sorry, Fraser, I don't know what came over me," he babbled, still trying to stand up. I simply exerted my greater strength until he subsided, and looked at me shamefaced.

"Ray, it's all right. Just relax. I'm not offended - just surprised, that's all."

"Honest, I didn't mean to...."

"I understand. You want physical comfort. That's okay. I'm here." I place a gentle kiss on his forehead, and he stared at me. "You want to be close to someone tonight. I don't mind if that's me."

"I'm sorry ...."

"I'm not. Please, relax." He resisted but as I continued to insist, he did as I asked and rested against me.

"How come you don't mind, Fraser?"

"Because you're my friend and you're in pain and you need me. You helped me once, and I want to help you."

He stayed silent for a long time, and I could tell by his breathing that he was falling asleep. I knew he was still very tired. "Come on, Ray. Come to bed." I helped him stand up.

"Will ... can I sleep with you?" he asked uncertainly, shyly. I held him close.

"Yes, of course. Go on, use the bathroom."

He shuffled like an old man. Whatever he had done in twelve months had done nothing to ease the ache inside him, and I wanted to do what little I could to offer comfort tonight.

When I had my turn in the bathroom, I found him sitting on my - his former - bed, staring at the floor. I put my arm around him again and kissed his cheek as he curled into me. I lifted his sweater off, and then his shirts. He sat passively as I took off his boots, but then he undid and removed his jeans. He looked at me for confirmation, and when I nodded, he took off his boxers too. I had seen his naked - and beautiful - body many times, and there was no shame on my part. Of course that meant reciprocating, and baring myself to him was somewhat more of a novelty for us. He looked at me with frank interest, but also with weariness and sadness, and all that he really wanted to do was to go to sleep with a comforting arm around him, which I provided. It was, for me, the most peaceful night's rest I had ever had.

I had the following day off, which meant I could allow myself a lie in, after a brief exit to allow Dief to relieve himself. As I got back under the covers, I found he hadn't moved, and I permitted myself to look my fill of him. I could see he'd lost a little weight and aged badly during his time away. The sunken marks of grief still marred his eyes, and there were fresh tear marks, shed during his sleep. He was still a deeply troubled, and a deeply desirable man, and I waited with some anxiety for his reaction to the night spent in my arms. I was prepared for almost any reaction, except for what I got, which was a warm smile and arms reaching for me to pull me to him in affectionate greeting. "Did you sleep well, Ray?"

"Mmm.. Yes, thanks. You?"

"Quite soundly, thank you." He snuggled against me and seemed disinclined to either move or analyze the situation, which surprised and, I have to say, pleased me.

We lay like that for another hour until the phone rang. He insisted the answering machine could handle it, but the sleepy peace was broken. His stomach rumbled too. "Breakfast," he said, somewhat ruefully, and then he kissed me chastely and tenderly on the lips. I stared at him, as surprised as he was the night before, at his acceptance of the situation.

"Ray ...."

"Don't, Fraser. Just let me enjoy things for a while." I let him alone. From his words, I could tell he didn't see this as a permanent change in our relationship. I was pragmatic enough to accept that this must necessarily be the case.

He rested for another minute or so but then reluctantly got out of bed. "Need to pee." He dragged on his bath robe and stumbled out of the room. I got dressed. There seemed no point in lolling about and I didn't want to appear to be prolonging things. As I went into the living room I could hear the shower going. I checked the answering machine - it was Ray Vecchio warning me about the reporters down at the precinct, and telling me to make sure I came in the rear way. Ray emerged just a couple of minutes later, again wearing the robe. "Say what, Fraser - I'm getting tired of tea. Let's go out for breakfast - you got plans for this morning?"

"Not this morning, no."

"Good," he said then went into his - my old - room to change. I felt awkward but when he came out, he was smiling, and there was no embarrassment on his part. He came over to where I was sitting and squeezed my shoulder. "Thanks for last night, Fraser."

"You're most welcome, Ray."

Another dazzling smile and then we were out into the autumn sunshine in search of the important food groups - caffeine and donuts. The newspapers were full of the Botrelle story still, and much speculation about the identity of the 'mystery man' who had whisked the former prisoner away to freedom.

As we ate our continental breakfast, I asked him what had happened with Mrs. Botrelle. He lost his smile then. "She wanted me to walk through the scene with her. I thought she was trying to point out how I'd fucked up, but actually, she blames herself for panicking and touching the gun, and then for running the shower. She said she could see how it looked. She, uh, thanked me."

He cast his eyes down to his plate, clearly abashed at her gratitude for what he saw as a mistake on his behalf. "Ray - she would be dead today if you had not made the effort to clear her name. You faced up to your responsibilities - yes, and to your mistake, and she is now free and alive and able to make the most of the remainder of her life because of you. I know why she thanked you."

"I can't believe it was Franklin," he said, changing the subject. "I mean, I worked with him for seven years. He was like this, I dunno, father figure, or mentor or something."

"He's a corrupt policeman who built his career on a fraud and was going to let an innocent woman die to cover his tracks. He was going to kill _you,_ Ray, if we hadn't got there in time. He's unworthy of your regret."

"Eight years," he said quietly then remained silent as he finished his coffee. He ordered another, and more donuts which he insisted on sharing with Diefenbaker. I didn't really have the heart to protest too loudly. Instead, I asked him what he had done during his year's absence.

"Traveled. Decided to drive down to Florida and work my way on up to Arizona. Do my best thinking while I drive, see."

"And when you reached Arizona, did you talk to your parents? Your father?"

He gave a humorless laugh. "Oh, yeah, me and dad get on just fine now, since I'm not a cop any more, and since as far as the Church is concerned, I'm not a divorcee but a widower. Oh yeah - everything's just peachy," he said bitterly. "He even offered to let me take the GTO we worked on years ago but I kinda can't manage that now," he lifted his weak hand to demonstrate.

"So what do you plan to do now? Go back to Arizona?"

He sighed and pushed his plate away from him, tossing the last donut scrap to a grateful wolf. "I really don't know, Fraser. It's like, all I wanted to be was a cop, and I can't do that no more, and nothing else really butters my muffin. I can't even work on cars, not with my arm like it is."

"It seems improved - are you still doing your exercises?"

"Pretty much - and yeah, it's better but you and me both know I'm a gimp and that's the end of that." He finished his coffee and stood up. "So what are you going to do today?"

"I promised Ray that I would help him with his paperwork today."

"On your day _off_?" he said with some amazement. "Mind if I tag along? I should thank him."

"Not at all, you'd be most welcome." His smile came back at that, and I was glad to see it.

Ray Vecchio was pleased to see us both, and received Ray Kowalski's genuine thanks with, I have to say, uncharacteristic modesty. "It was really down to you, Kowalski. You done good. Listen, come in and meet my lieutenant. I told him about you."

Ray looked uncertain, and a little apprehensive, but Lieutenant Welsh was enthusiastic. "Heard a lot about you, Kowalski. Someone gets three commendations, you make a splash. I, uh, was sorry about your wife."

"Ex-wife, sir, and thanks."

"And I'm sorry you had to leave the force. A damn shame if you ask me."

"It was my own fault, sir. If I hadn't been so bullheaded, no one would have got hurt."

The lieutenant and Ray Vecchio were astounded at Ray's admission, and momentarily lost for words. But finally, Ray Vecchio spoke. "Crap, Kowalski. You were trying to find out who killed your wife. I'd have done the same thing."

Now it was Ray Kowalski's turn to be surprised, and he gave Ray Vecchio a look of pure gratitude. Lieutenant Welsh cleared his throat, embarrassed. "Well, that's in the past. But you did good, all of you, on this Botrelle case, and I'm damn proud of you. Kowalski, what are you planning to do with yourself now?'

As he had done when I asked him the same question, Ray shrugged. "Dunno, sir."

"You thinking of the PI game? I got some contacts in the security industry, if you want them."

"I appreciate it, sir. I'm giving it some thought."

Welsh clapped Ray on the shoulder. "You do that. Now, I hate to break this up, but I got a station to run. Vecchio, I need those Botrelle reports on my desk in an hour. Understand?"

"Yes, sir," Ray said smartly. Ray Kowalski helped us and I typed to Ray Vecchio's dictation. The required reports were done in forty five minutes, to everyone's satisfaction. Ray Vecchio had just invited us to lunch when he got a call to go meet an informant, and had to cry off. "Tell you what, Benny. Ma's been agitating for me to bring you over for supper again. You too, Kowalski."

"I don't ..." Ray Kowalski began, clearly about to refuse.

"Uh uh, Kowalski. You can't turn down Italian hospitality - it's bad luck." Ray winked at me as he said this, and Ray Kowalski capitulated.

"All right - I'll see you both at seven. Capice? And Benny? Ray and me will keep Frannie under wraps."

"I heard that, bro'," Francesca's voice was heard from the closet. Ray Kowalski had not yet met Francesca but he'd heard about her. He grinned.

We made our way down to Grant Park and had hot dogs for lunch. Ray sighed as we passed the Buckingham Fountain. "I missed Chicago, Fraser. I mean, there's a lot of beautiful cities in America, but there's no place like home, when you get right down to it."

"And is this home, Ray?"

He looked at me curiously. "Why wouldn't it be? I grew up here."

"Your parents are in Arizona, your brother lives in California - your ties are elsewhere."

"Stella's buried here. The apartment's here. You're here. You missed me, didn't you," he said as a statement.

"Yes," I said baldly.

"Well, there you go. That's home to me. All you need is someone who misses you. My parents got each other. They don't need me."

"I need you," I said, daringly.

"I know, Fraser. It's mutual. Never had a friend like you before. Didn't know how much you meant to me until I left. But what about Canada? Don't you want to go home?"

"All the time," I admitted. "But like you, I have come to realize that home is an idea not a place. If you are going to stay, my exile will be much more bearable."

He laughed. "Well, that was subtle, Fraser. You saying I should stay for you?"

I flushed, embarrassed at my gaffe. "No ... I was simply pointing out ...."

"That you'd like me to stay. Okay, I will."

"Ray - you should do what you want to do, not what I want."

"And how do you know they're not the same thing? Look, Fraser. I got my pension, I got Stella's insurance. I got no purpose in life. If me staying in Chicago helps you, that gives me a purpose. That's enough."

I felt troubled at the lack of direction in his life that his words implied, but he was only forty eight hours back in the city and it had been a singularly eventful, not to mention difficult, time. We walked at an easy pace, enjoying the lack of people and the dry, cold bright weather. I had to admit it was pleasurable to be able to spend time with him like this again - I had long missed our walks in our local park, and his quicksilver conversation. As we walked past the Shedd Aquarium, he became animated. "Man, I haven't been here since I was a kid. You ever been inside, Fraser?"

"No, I have to confess I haven't."

"Oh, you gotta, it's great." I willingly let him drag me in, amused at his child-like enthusiasm. Diefenbaker was most put out at having to be left outside, but he promised me he would remain where I left him. The aquarium was indeed a treat, and I was particularly taken with the beluga whales which had come from Hudson Bay and which all had Inuit names. "Making you homesick?" Ray asked, clearly concerned that he may have made a mistake in bringing me.

"No more than usual. They really are a sight, aren't they?"

All the displays were well done, and Ray was bewitched by it all. I had as much fun watching him as watching the exhibits. He loved the tunnel which allowed us to walk under water, and watching him mesmerized as a giant sea turtle 'flew' over his head, I felt my heart skip a beat. It was at that moment I knew my feelings had well and truly moved from friendship to love, even if I could never tell him that. A single night's comfort did not, however much I wanted it to, translate into the desire for a closer relationship, although I was repeatedly warmed by his displays of friendship and affection, the little touches, the way his hand rested on my shoulder as we watched the tide pool. I was utterly starved of physical affection, and he was spilling over with generosity in that direction.

We easily spent the rest of the afternoon there, and it was only the need to shower and change in readiness for supper at the Vecchio home which drove us out in the end. "That was great," Ray sighed happily as we climbed the stairs to our apartment.

"Indeed," I said, glad to see him relaxed and happy. When I emerged from the shower, and changed, I found his mood had swung again.

"I'm not sure about this, Fraser. I don't know the Vecchios - hell, I don't even know if Ray Vecchio likes me."

"He wouldn't have invited you if he didn't, Ray. He is very protective of his family. They're wonderful people - a little noisy perhaps."

"And this Frannie? What's she like?"

"Francesca is an attractive, intelligent woman," I said firmly.

"With the hots for you," he said with an evil grin.

"Well, yes."

"And you want protection."

I played along with him. "It would be appreciated."

"You think she's my type?"

I forced a smile on my face even though my heart went cold at his words. "I really couldn't say."

"You think I'm attractive, Fraser?"

"Very much so," I managed to say in a light voice.

"That's good. That's greatness. Well, pitter patter, we'll be late."

His mood had again elevated, even as mine had sunk. I felt a hollow pride that at least I concealed this from him successfully. I had deluded myself that his actions last night, and his words today, somehow implied an interest in me - or at least in men. But now I could see that his sexual, if not his emotional focus remained on women. I was a fool to think it would be otherwise, and so I resolved to be a good friend to him, and nothing more. However much it hurt.

The Vecchio house was, as I had warned, very loud. Ray welcomed us with a beaming grin. Francesca assessed the stranger frankly, but it was clear that her interest in me was undiminished by the comparative exercise. Ray Kowalski looked a little stunned, and not a little taken aback by the noise. Mrs. Vecchio greeted him enthusiastically, and treated the whole assembly to a speech welcoming Ray, and regaling us all with the tale of how he had saved that poor Mrs. Botrelle from death. Ray looked as if he would gladly sink into the floor with embarrassment, but soon the interest of the family turned to squabbling and he could eat the delicious food in peace. One of Ray Vecchio's nephews asked what was wrong with Ray's hand - when Ray answered honestly by saying he'd been blown up, his kudos was vastly increased, and the whole sorry tale had to be told, suitably trimmed and embellished for his youthful audience. Ray Vecchio grinned at me across the table, and in truth I was delighted at the acceptance my Ray was finding with these good and generous people. I hoped this was another thing which might let him consider Chicago his home.

We made our excuses at ten o'clock, late for me, early by everyone else's standards, but I did have the early shift at the consulate. Ray Vecchio promised to see me at the station tomorrow, and wished Ray Kowalski good luck. They even made vague comments about 'doing this again some time' which surprised and pleased me. Ray Kowalski got into the driver's seat of his car but didn't drive off, resting his head on the steering wheel. "Is something wrong?" I asked.

"I'm stuffed," he mumbled, and I grinned.

"I would have warned you against the third helping of lasagna, but you seemed to be enjoying yourself."

"It wasn't that, it was four bowls of tiramisu."

Four? I must have missed the last one. "Never mind, Ray. At least you'll die happy."

He gave me a sickly smile but managed to drive us home safely.

All I wanted to do was go to bed when I got home but I was uncertain as to what Ray wanted to do. I didn't want him to feel unwelcome with me, nor did I want to push. In the end I went to bed but left the door open. I heard him puttering about in the darkened living room, and then come into my bedroom and sit on the bed. "Fraser?" he asked quietly.

"I'm awake, Ray," I replied equally softly.

"I, uh. Last night. I don't want you to think I was using you..."

"I don't."

"Oh ... good. But you see ... well ...." His voice died and nothing more came out.

"Ray, you're welcome any time. Whatever you need, when you need it. No strings," I said firmly, but as warmly as I could manage.

I felt him shift closer to me. "You're the best friend I ever had, Fraser." Then I felt him kiss my cheek gently and brush his hand against my hair. "Good night."

I heard him leave, and felt bereft. Oh well, I thought, at least I had his friendship. No small, nor insignificant thing.

I was on shift continuously for two weeks and I was engrossed in my own work and Ray Vecchio's cases. I knew Ray Kowalski was keeping himself busy but he was remarkably close-mouthed about what. On evenings when I was at home and not on stakeout with Ray Vecchio, Ray Kowalski and I ate together companionably, and watched television. He was physically affectionate, usually sitting close to me on the sofa, and very often ending up with his arm around my shoulder, or with his head in my lap. I didn't dare to question actions which I enjoyed so much, but I really couldn't tell if he was satisfying his own need for comfort, or a perceived desire in me. In the end, I thought it was easier to go with the flow, as he would say.

On my first day off in a fortnight, Ray insisted I had to come with him downtown, but refused to tell me why. I could tell he was bubbling with suppressed enthusiasm, and his good mood infected mine. He took me to an office block on the edge of the business district - in fact, not far from the 27th precinct. He unlocked the door of an office suite, and there I found, to my surprise, Mrs. Botrelle waiting for me. She greeted me warmly and then I waited for the two conspirators to reveal their secret.

"Welcome to B&K Investigations, Fraser," Ray said proudly, spreading his hands out to indicate their domain.

"B&K - Botrelle and Kowalski?"

"Got it in one."

Mrs. Botrelle took over the explanation. "You see, Constable, Ray came to me and offered me a job a week back - as his secretary."

"But she turned me down. Said she wasn't going to work as no secretary to a gimp ex-cop."

"I did not," she said, shocked, to his clear amusement. "What I said _was_ that I wouldn't work as his secretary but I would work as his partner. There's no reason I can't work as a private eye once my appeal goes through."

"And she's got money, I got money, we both got connections - it's perfect."

"Well, I have to say - congratulations to both of you. I think it's a wonderful idea." I put my hand out and Mrs. Botrelle shook it.

"Do you, Constable? Do you really?"

"Fraser doesn't lie, Beth," Ray reproved his new partner.

"No, indeed. And yes, I do believe that. Ray is an excellent investigator, you appear to be an intelligent and resourceful woman - I think you should do very well. How are you going to obtain your clients?"

Ray motioned me to sit and we discussed his plans. "We're gonna start slow - I haven't got my license yet, and like Beth says, she's technically a convicted felon ...."

"Not for long," she said quickly.

"Nope, not for long, but we can start advertising, printing up cards and stuff. Beth's going on a computer course and she can teach me. It'll be great."

I saw the hope and animation in Beth Botrelle's prominent eyes as she watched my friend, and I knew why he had done it. It was inspired, and would be far more than an act of expiation of his guilt. This could be the thing that gave him that missing purpose in life.

Ray left Beth to do some minor administrative things - she was setting up their computer system, and had more knowledge of that sort of thing than he did, as she had worked as an administrator during her marriage. They weren't running full office hours just yet, and were both relaxed about the whole venture. Ray took me to lunch in the park again and wanted me to assure him again of my good opinion of the matter, which I was happy to do.

I had one reservation. "Do you think Beth will be able to deal with the sordid reality of investigations - I mean, won't it bring back painful memories for her?"

"That's what I asked her. She said it might, but she also said it would make her better at her job. She likes the idea of helping find runaways - and cheating husbands. I can leave it for her to pick the cases she can handle. Fraser, she's a tough lady and real smart. If she says she can cope, she can cope."

Lucky Beth, I thought, to have his protection and support. Lucky Ray, to have Beth so willing to forgive and heal him.

Fall became Winter. Ray's business was having a modestly good beginning, and they had several clients. Beth's appeal was still in the offing, but was expected to be cleared in the New Year. In the meantime, she ran the office for Ray, and helped as much as she could without breaching the terms of his license. I was busy with Consulate work, but still had to make time to go on separate Christmas shopping expeditions with both Rays, who categorically refused to venture out jointly with me. I became over familiar with the seasonal experience of mall shopping - ironic considering I made my own gifts. Even something as innocuous as this innocent exercise involved Ray and I in difficulty when I witnessed a man strike a waiter at a restaurant in the mall. Things nearly came to gun play, but for all that, there were apparently no witnesses to the incident. Ray Vecchio was not pleased when I called him down to arrest Mr. Warfield, who, as both Rays informed me, was a leading figure in the Chicago underworld. Although Ray Vecchio took him in, he explained loudly, and at length, how futile the exercise was, a point reiterated by Lieutenant Welsh. Ray Kowalski watched matters with a world weary eye, and was not the least surprised when the victim of the attack refused to make a statement. Over both their protests, I insisted on seeing Mr. Warfield myself. The man was intransigent - and violent. The two Rays made a timely appearance to prevent my being 'roughed up' as a warning, but even this did not lead to charges against Mr. Warfield.

Ray Vecchio urged me to give it up. Ray Kowalski listened but offered no advice for or against. I refused to admit defeat, and took up a vigil outside Mr. Warfield's club. Several hours later, Ray Vecchio appeared, with an irritated Ray Kowalski in tow for moral support. "Benny, get in the car. Welsh doesn't want you down here."

"I'm not breaking the law, Ray." He walked away from me in frustration. His namesake took his place.

"Fraser, you are being a pain in the ass and selfish and single minded. Get in the fucking car!" Ray Kowalski was close to losing his temper. I remained where I was.

"I'll arrest you, Fraser, if you don't stop disobeying my lawful direction," Ray Vecchio tried again.

"On what charge?"

"Being a pain and a worry," Ray Kowalski muttered, but Ray Vecchio admitted defeat.

"Come on, Kowalski," he said with disgust, "I'll drive you back to the office. Damned stubborn Canucks."

I watched them go with a mixture of annoyance and affection for their concern. I felt they were worrying unduly. The most that would happen was that Mr. Warfield would grow tired of having his place of business haunted by a red-suited Mountie, and apologize. How wrong I was.

As usual, it was my friends who had to bear the burden of my error. Ray Vecchio collected me from outside the club where I clung to a lamp post, bleeding, barely conscious and humiliated, having been lured into an alley way and thrashed within an inch of my sorry life. I refused to let him take me to hospital - I considered the injuries to be self-inflicted and I deserved to suffer for my idiocy. He called Ray Kowalski from the precinct as Francesca carried out kind, albeit slightly inept first aid. My Ray came into the squad room like the wrath of God, just in time to hear the Assistant States Attorney explain in exquisite detail how and why it was impossible to prosecute Mr. Warfield over this latest attack. Dizzy, and in considerable discomfort, I listened to him, and then Ray Kowalski arguing with him, as if I was uninvolved in the whole matter. I felt disillusioned, and not a little betrayed by the lack of support from my colleagues, even as I realised I was being unfair to them, and especially to Ray Vecchio. Ray Kowalski fulminated against me, the system and Mr. Warfield, as he got me carefully into his car but as he watched me try unsuccessfully to get comfortable, his anger turned to concern. "Are you sure you don't want to go to the hospital, Fraser? You look like shit."

"I feel like it too, Ray, but no. Let's go home."

We were nearly back at the building when Ray's cell phone went. "Kowalski. Oh, Vecchio... You are? Wait, I'll tell him." He pulled the phone away. "Vecchio and Welsh are going to raid Warfield's club. You want in?"

"Yes," I said without hesitation.

We were at the club in fifteen minutes. Ray Kowalski hung back, and kept an eye on the young waiter whose assault by Willie Warfield had started all this. In the meantime, we officers cleared the club, much to Mr. Warfield's displeasure. I heard Ray and the young man enter the club's front entrance even as Warfield spat and swore and wriggled on a hook of his own making. It was, I admit, a moment of sweet satisfaction when the bullying mobster was forced to apologize to his victim. It was sweeter still to watch him being taken away by Lieutenant Welsh under arrest for various infractions of Illinois law. Ray Vecchio watched too, before going with his lieutenant down to the station. "We were wrong, Benny," he said in apology.

"No, you weren't. I was stubborn and I could have jeopardized the whole thing."

Ray looked surprised - he was more used to pointing out my faults than me admitting them. "Well, that may be so. But I was still proud of you tonight." Ray Kowalski watched with a grim look on his face - I really couldn't tell what he was thinking.

We saw the police officers go and then Ray insisted I got back in the car so he could drive us home. I banged my ribs as I got in, and then the world dissolved into a gray ball of pain.

I awoke sometime later in an examination room. "What on earth...?"

Ray lifted his head from the magazine he was reading in the chair by the bed. "You passed out. You shoulda let me take you to hospital the first time, you moron - you got a broken rib, bruised kidneys, a concussion. It's a wonder you ain't dead." He sounded furious with me.

"Can I go home?"

He stood up and came over to me. Now I could see that there was worry as well as anger in his expression. "They really want you to stay overnight for observation - you got hit pretty hard, Fraser."

"But can I go home?"

He sighed in frustration at my obstinacy. "Yeah - if you insist. Just wait until they come back with the tests - they're not a hundred percent sure you haven't got internal injuries."

I closed my eyes, feeling the pain colliding with the fuzziness of the pain killers and enjoying neither sensation. I think I must have dozed a little because I woke with a start, and a groan as my ribs caught, when the doctor came back in. He pronounced that I did not have internal injuries other than the severe bruising, serious enough in itself but not life threatening. He tried vainly to insist I remained, but I was equally insistent upon going. Ray let me have my head, no doubt sensing that as with Mr. Warfield, he was on a hiding to nothing in arguing with me.

The ride home was agonizing, as was getting up the stairs. It was difficult for Ray to help me with his own disabilities, but finally he had me propped up by the door as he opened it, and was then manhandling me carefully into the bedroom. I was completely unable to bend over or assist myself. I felt utterly exhausted, being content to let him strip me with gentle hands and contributing nothing to my own arrangement. He drew the covers over me and left me alone with a quiet "Sleep well". Once alone, the reaction hit, and I began to shiver and shake, trying to muffle my groans at the pain my movements were causing. I was apparently unsuccessful because I felt Ray come and sit on the bed next to me. "Fraser? What's wrong?"

His hand brushed my face and then I felt him climb under the covers with me and take me in his arms. I shook for a good twenty minutes, and shed a few self-pitying tears at the agony in my body which assailed me from all points. He held me carefully, and stroked my face and whispered to me until the tremors diminished. I lay weakly in his arms, unable to move, or even to speak. I had rarely felt so helpless or ashamed - the only other time I could recall was after Ray Vecchio shot me, and that, like this, was trouble I had brought on myself. Ray Kowalski held me close, the warmth of his body and the strength of his affection soothing me into a nightmare ridden sleep.

There was no other word for it. Waking up was sheer hell. Even the slightest movement, the merest twitch sent pain shooting through me, so I concentrated on remaining as still as possible. I could hear Dief snuffling, waking up and hoped Ray would wake soon so he could take my wolf out - I was incapable of it. Ray had uncurled from me in the night, but he suddenly rolled over and wrapped his arm over me which made me yelp despite myself. His eyes shot open. "Oh my God - sorry, Fraser. " He moved back carefully. "Still hurt bad, huh?" I nodded but even that movement made me wince. "You stay there - I'll get the painkillers."

"Dief," I muttered.

"Damn. OK. I'll take him out for a run but you take the pills first." He returned with a glass of water and two of the strong painkillers the hospital had prescribed. He helped me sit up, an exercise in torture in itself, and I took the medication. He laid me back down and looked at me with a worried frown. "You really should have stayed in the hospital."

I reached for his hand. "No. Better here. With you."

"You think? Well, okay. Look, I'll be ten minutes with Dief. Will you be all right for that long?"

I needed to urinate, but I thought I would wait until the painkillers kicked in. "I'll be fine."

I heard him go out and I lay as still as I could, waiting for the pain to ease.

"You're in a pickle now, son."

Oh terrific. "Thank you, Dad. Did you just drop by to point that out?"

"Can't a father call in to see how his son is getting on - how the roommate is working out, that sort of thing?"

"So it's Ray that bothers you, not me being beaten to a pulp."

"As you know yourself, Benton, you got hurt because of your rigidity. I did warn you that the bough that will not bend...."

"Must break, yes, thanks, Dad."

He deigned to move into my field of view. "There's no future in it, you know."

"In what?" I said irritably, not being in the least mood for this.

"The Yank. He's a good man, I grant you, but he's looking for a wife. Stella knows it."

"I know it too. What makes you think I don't want him to find a wife?"

My father looked at me pityingly. "Son, even Blind Pugh could see how you feel about him."

"That doesn't mean I don't want him to get married."

"Who's getting married? And who are you talking to, Fraser?" Ray walked through my father, obviously thinking I was delirious.

"It's nothing - the pills...."

"Yeah, they make you whacky, I know that. You need to get up?"

"Yes." I saw that Ray had stripped me down to my bare skin last night, and now I recalled that he likewise had slept with me nude. I welcomed the fact that he still felt comfortable that way with me. He passed me my robe and helped me hobble out to the bathroom. I was forced to ask him to help me stand to urinate, to my immense embarrassment, although he was unconcerned. "A hot bath would do you good," he suggested.

"Agreed. But I can't manage it."

"Sure you can. Take a seat." He propped me on the close toilet lid and ran a steamy bath, to which he added some mysterious bath salts which he said he swore by for boxing injuries. I can't say I even recalled seeing them before - he must have picked them up on the run with Diefenbaker. To my surprise he stripped off. "I'm getting in with you - it's the easiest way." He helped me off with my robe, unwrapped my ribs, got me to stand in the bath and then lowered me carefully down, until I was resting in the deliciously hot water, with him acting as a cushion behind me. I groaned with relief as the heat worked its magic on me. "That good?"

"It's wonderful, thank you."

I lay peacefully with his arms around me, letting him soap my chest and not making a move to assist myself. It felt too good for me to risk moving and awakening the pain again.

"You worried the hell out of me last night, Fraser," Ray said quietly next to my ear after we had soaked for a while.

"I worried myself. I wasn't expecting the attack."

"Thought for a minute there you'd died, when you passed out. Nearly gave me a heart attack." His arms held me more firmly.

"I"m sorry."

"Well, you better be. You got people who depend on you, you know, and you gotta think about them."

"Like who?" I asked, pushing slightly.

"Like Vecchio, and Frannie, and Beth, and Dief. And me of course," as if this was an afterthought.

"Of course. But we did take Mr. Warfield down."

"Oh, fuck Warfield," he shouted suddenly, and then continued more quietly. "You get rid of him, another one comes along to replace him. You think it was worth nearly getting killed over a slap to some kid's face?"

"Justice ...."

"Bullshit, Fraser. You listen to me. You are not to get killed, or dead or in any way maimed or injured or damaged, you hear me? I need you in one piece, right here. Nothing else matters. I can't lose someone else. Stella was enough. I can't go through that again. Get it?"

"Yes, Ray," I said meekly, surprised at the depth of his anger and emotion.

"You done?" he said gruffly. "The water's getting cold."

I said I was and he helped me out carefully, insisting on drying me and wrapping me back up in the robe. He held me by its lapels. "I need you," he repeated.

"You've got me," I said softly. He looked at me sharply, then he wrapped his naked body around me and gave me a long, careful hug, his cheek against mine. I'd never felt so wanted and cared for.

He led me back to bed and insisted I stay there. I thought he would redress himself but he merely put his robe on. He disappeared for a long while into the living room, where I heard him on the phone, and then he returned bearing a pot of tea, toast and orange juice. "OK. I called Inspector Thatcher, Vecchio and Beth. I'm looking after you today and tomorrow and you are going nowhere for the rest of the week. Got it?"

"Ray, I don't think ..."

"Got. It?" he said firmly, and I nodded, knowing I was beaten in more ways than the usual. To my surprise, he got back into bed and propped the tray on his lap, deftly pouring a mug of tea and handing me toast like he did this every day. After consumption of the food and drink, I felt much better, if still very tired. "You should go back to sleep. You know, you didn't sleep that good last night."

"I kept you awake? I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it. No one had a gun to my head to make me sleep with you." And no one's got a gun on you now, I thought silently. He put the tray on the floor and I curled up in the only position which was comfortable, on my uninjured side. This meant I was facing him - I considered for a brief second putting my head in his lap but that would mean he would have to stay in here while I slept. Would that be a bad thing, my bad self asked. I thought I heard my father laugh snidely but I ignored him. Ray's hand came down on my hair and I felt him touching it gently. I wanted this to go on and on. I fell asleep to the sound of my own internal regrets.

Waking again brought pain, but I fancied it was a little easier this time. Ray must have been keeping a close ear out because he was in the room bearing pain medication within a minute of me stirring. "Do you feel better?" he asked anxiously.

"Yes, I believe I do. I'd like to get up - what time is it?"

"Two o'clock. Are you sure you want to get up?"

"Absolutely. I can't lie in bed all day."

"Why not?" It was useless to explain the ingrained teachings of my childhood and in the end he gave in and helped me dress in sweats and thick socks. He would only let me get as far as the sofa where I was immediately surrounded by pillows and wrapped in the comforter from the bed.

"Ray, I'm really not that seriously injured, you know."

He stared at me. "Fraser - the doctor told me you came this close to being dead. He said he didn't know how you escaped without having a burst liver or worse. And he told me to make you take it easy. So. Doctor's orders, don't fucking argue with me or I will kick you in the head."

"And this will help my injured condition how, exactly?" He threw a cushion at me, but very carefully.

It was, I have to admit, not an unpleasant way of spending a snowy and very cold day. The medication took the edge of the pain enough that I could actually enjoy watching television, and the floaty disembodied sensation they created was almost perfect for watching the fare served up during the day. Ray arranged to take the next couple of days off. He said business was quiet - Beth was taking time at home to prepare for her first Christmas in freedom for eight years, and the office was being run remotely via email, voicemail and mobile phone. He had his portable computer set up in our living room and he could do much of his enquiring on line. He showed me how it worked, and I was able to give him some tips. We really had nothing to do but for me to recuperate and Ray to play Florence Nightingale, and I was tired and battered enough to enjoy the pampering.

As had become his habit, Ray curled up next to me on the sofa, his head in my lap, as we watched films of his choosing. I found my hand playing in his hair and moved it, shocked at my lapse. "Something wrong?" he asked drowsily.

"I, uh ... shouldn't."

He twisted up to look at me. "Shouldn't what, Fraser? Touch my hair? Jeezus, we were having a bath together this morning - I don't mind you playing with my hair, or anything else."

"But ... uh, that was ... you looking after me."

He gave me an amused grin. "How many nurses do you know bathe with their patients?" His grin grew bigger at my look of shock. "Can I ask you something, Fraser? All this - me sleeping with you, lying on you like a rug - you're cool with it. Why?"

"I, uh - I don't know," I said honestly, if somewhat confusedly.

"OK, let me ask something you do know. How do you feel about me?"

"I love you," I said without hesitation.

"And so do I, Fraser." He twisted around and started watching television again as if all was resolved.

My hand moved to his hair again of its own volition, but my mind was in turmoil. What did he mean exactly? I had to know. "Ray - in what way do you love me?"

He kept his eyes on the television, and his voice sounded amused. "Well, it doesn't mean I want to marry you and bear your children, Fraser."

"Oh." I wasn't sure that made things clearer.

"Oh? Is that all you can say? You mean you don't want me to say, actually I love you in a manly, I'd just love to suck your dick sort of way?" he said teasingly.

Again he reduced me to speechlessness, and then he took pity on me and turned to look at me again. "Fraser," he said gently, "you're hot, you know that. Hell, I wanted you the minute I saw you. But I also love you. Now I don't know much about this guy/guy thing, and I'm not offering you a future because, frankly, that's not fair to you or to me. All I know is that I love you as a friend and a lot more than that. We don't have to do a thing about it. I'm happy as things are." He turned back to the television.

I continued to stroke his hair in a mechanical way while I thought about his words. He was right - we didn't have to do anything. And then I realized that this was all we needed. I had him. I had his companionship and his love. Like him, I couldn't offer a future. "I love you, " I said finally, softly.

"That's good, Fraser. Now we both know." He rubbed my knee affectionately, but we didn't talk about the subject again. From that night on, Ray slept with me.

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written nearly twenty years ago under another pseudonym. It hasn't been revised (or reread by me) since then.
> 
> I am posting this and my other stories from this period purely so people can read them if they choose. I won't be reading comments, and don't care if you leave kudos. I'm dumping them and running.
> 
> Having said that, I worked hard on them, and I hope they still entertain someone out there.


End file.
